Slipping Away (Or, Smoke)

I sleep uneasy
Hoping you would visit me
In my dreams, completely
Immersed as I am
And wait for you
With complete uncertainty
Whether you shall come
Is a question beyond me
And yet, like in waking
If I were forever sleeping
I would stay where I am
In the darkness, weeping
And listening, and hearing
For your footsteps to echo
In the empty room of my mind
Hear your voice, so mellow.
But I don’t know why it should be
That the more I hope for you
The more you slip away
The more you become obscure
And I hold on to you
And all I know of you
And all I feel for you
Like to sickness a cure
Yet you slip through my fingers
Like tendrils of thin smoke
And I breathe you in, I suffocate
With your leaving, I choke
But please, stay,
Please, faith,
Because when even in my dreams you walk away
I should never again want to wake.

Here is yet another poem I’ve written just recently. Should this kind of “loss” in life – the walking away of a person, perhaps never to be met again, though there is always a chance – be dramatically rendered in poem form? I don’t know. But I stand by Neil Gaiman’s “Make Good Art” speech, and here I am, making art (though I do not know if it is good), if only to ease the longing in my heart.

I also want to have bacon right now. Sad.